A Journeyman to Grief (33 page)

“Send a constable to 183 Mutual Street. Mrs. Cooke is supposed to be away, make sure she is. If she isn’t, bring her into the station. I don’t care if you have to drag her there in cuffs. Also, I want to talk to one of the cabbies, his name is Paul Musgrave. Bring him in too. I’ll be there as soon as I can…No, I don’t know if they are our culprits, but somebody was able to get into the barn here and I’m taking no chances. I don’t have time to tell you everything at the moment, Charlie, but there’s one more person I hope to God can fill in the missing pieces for us. Have Fyfer get over to the Baptist Church on Queen Street. Tell him to go to the manse. I should be there before him, but tell him to expect to stay all night.”

There was still a light burning in the front window of the manse and when Green knocked, the door was answered promptly. An elderly woman whom Murdoch recognized from the church stood on the threshold.

“Good gracious, Elijah. What is it?”

Murdoch stepped forward and introduced himself quickly. “I do apologize for the hour, ma’am, but I’m afraid it is a matter of some urgency. I wonder if I might speak to Reverend Archer?”

He assumed this woman was the pastor’s wife. She wasn’t budging.

“It is very late and he’s already had one visitor this evening.” Mrs. Archer might be tiny, but she was as daunting as a mother doe defending her young. Her feet were braced, her eyes fixed on Murdoch. “Can your business wait until tomorrow?”

Murdoch forced himself to speak calmly. “I would prefer to deal with the matter tonight, ma’am.”

Green interjected. “I can vouch for the detective, Mrs. Archer. The matter is most urgent. It has to do with Thomas’s death.”

She stepped back. “Come this way, then.”

They followed her down the hall, through a large kitchen that smelled of baked bread, then through another door into a short hall. Pastor Archer’s apartment was an addition to the house.

Mrs. Archer glanced over her shoulder. “I told my husband that Thomas was dead, but I don’t know if he quite understood. I do ask you to be careful what you say to him.”

She rapped on the door.

“Stanley? Stanley? Elijah Green is here and somebody from the police who wishes to speak to you.”

There was no answer, and Green and Murdoch exchanged worried glances. Then they heard the sound of an old man’s rheumy cough and a muffled “Enter.” Mrs. Archer ushered them past her into the room.

An elderly negro, small and stooped with a fringe of beard and close-cropped white hair, was standing by the fire, warming his hands. He was wearing an old-fashioned brown velvet smoking jacket and matching cap. He looked as dry and brittle as a grasshopper.

“Come in, both of you, come in.” He waved his hand politely. “I do apologize for the untidy state of my home, but I was just going through my papers.”

The living room was fairly spacious although it was untidy, papers scattered all over the floor. The walls were lined with high bookcases, all of them stuffed with stacks of bound papers. The air was thick and smoky from tobacco.

“I’ve been asked to write down my life story, you know,” the pastor continued. He glanced over at his wife. “Isn’t that so, Leah?”

“Indeed it is, Stanley. How are you progressing?”

The old man sank into an armchair that was drawn up close to the hearth. “Slowly, I must admit, it is going slowly.”

“How long did your visitor stay?” she asked him. “She must have let herself out while I was upstairs.”

“Who are you referring to?”

“The American lady who was here to see you. Did you have a good chat?”

The pastor sighed. “That was a long time ago, Leah. You can hardly expect me to remember that. I see so many people.”

Mrs. Archer’s eyes flickered over to Murdoch and he understood.

“Stanley, you remember Elijah, don’t you?”

The preacher’s eyes were vague. “I’m afraid I don’t. Have we met before?”

“Not for some time, Pastor.”

“And this is Mr. Murdoch. He is a police officer and he wants to talk to you on matters of great urgency that can’t wait until morning.”

Archer eyed Murdoch calmly. “Is that so, sir?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Then you had best have a seat. Leah, would you be so good as to bring us some of your splendid coffee. The detective looks as if he could do with some. And I’m sure the young man would like some as well.”

“Not for me, thank you, sir,” said Murdoch. Green shook his head.

“Make some for me then, Leah. I’ll have it afterwards.”

Mrs. Archer headed for the door. “Don’t tax him, Mr. Murdoch. He’s just getting over a cold. I’ll be back directly.”

Murdoch turned to Green. “Perhaps you could help Mrs. Archer while I talk to the reverend.”

Green hesitated.

“Don’t worry,” said Murdoch. “I’ll be careful.”

Mrs. Archer looked surprised. She was too well mannered to give into her anxiety and curiosity both, but Murdoch knew she wouldn’t be away long.

“Don’t mind my wife,” said the preacher after the door had closed behind them. He smiled. “She’s as fussy as an old hen. Praise the Lord.” He waved his hand. “You’ll have to take me as you see me. I’m writing my life story, which is what all those papers are about. I have almost finished. I’d never have thought when I was a young man that there’d be anybody in the white world interested in reading about the misery of the coloured folk. They seemed like they didn’t want to hear, see, or speak about what was happening to us. But now it’s different. I’ve got a publisher who can’t wait to print my memoirs, as he
calls them. ‘The more misery you put in, Stanley, the better it will sell,’ was what he said. Amen to that, says I. Not that I’ve got to make any of it up, you understand. I surely don’t. My mammy and pappy were both slaves, hallelujah, and my relations likewise, so I’ve got plenty of misery enough to fill ten books.”

The pastor appeared quite lucid, and he reminded Murdoch of Thomas Talbert, although he was probably a few years older.

“Have a seat, sir. You can just move those papers to the floor. That’s it. I’ll stir up the fire a bit. I don’t have that much flesh on my bones any more and I feel the cold.”

The fire was already blazing, but the pastor added a couple more pieces of coal from the shuttle.

Murdoch did as he said, his muscles complaining. His head was pounding.

The old man fussed with the fire, then returned to his armchair. His expression changed and he looked at Murdoch, his face full of worry.

“Leah said you were a police officer. Have you found her then?”

“Found who, sir?”

“Thomas’s daughter. There’s no word yet?”

Murdoch had no idea what he was referring to. “Word about what, Reverend?”

The question disturbed the preacher, who picked up his pipe from the table. “I’ll think better if I have my trusty friend in my hand.”

“Do you mind if I join you?” asked Murdoch, and he took his clay from his pocket. He was about to share his packet of tobacco when Archer handed him a tin.

“Try this. You won’t find this in the stores here. I get it sent up from North Carolina.”

When they’d both settled the business of tamping and lighting and drawing, Murdoch tried again. He thought he had better tread carefully.

“I understand you have known Thomas Talbert for a long time, sir.”

“I have indeed. Poor Thom, he’s had a mighty trying time of it lately. Did he tell you if he was going to accept Mr. Cooke’s offer? I advised him to.” The old man was speaking as if Talbert were alive.

“Er, yes, I believe he has.”

The pastor drew on his pipe and was temporarily lost in a haze of smoke. Suddenly he looked at Murdoch in alarm. “Are you from America?”

“No, sir. I’m not. I live here in Toronto.”

“Amen to that. I feared you were tracking them down. If you are, don’t expect me to help you because I won’t.”

“No, sir,” said Murdoch gently. “I’m not tracking them down at all.”

Archer seemed not to hear him and he went on, speaking quickly. “They have nothing, most of them, when they arrive. But we do the best we can, hallelujah. My wife lives the gospel, and she is wondrous capable at getting them clothes and places to stay.” He shook his head and tears welled up in his eyes. “Such terrible stories I hear from them.”

Archer puffed on his pipe and abruptly his focus changed. “Thomas took the offer, did he? I’m surprised he hasn’t told me after all the to-do he was making. But I’m glad to hear that because I’ve been afeared for some weeks that he would do Mr. Cooke harm.”

“How so, sir?”

Murdoch looked at the preacher, waiting. The man looked back, searching for something in Murdoch’s face that presumably
he found because finally he let out a sigh and said, “I don’t know if you are familiar with the practices of the Roman Catholic Church, but in their faith, the priest listens to confessions of sins, misdeeds, and so on that he then absolves –”

“I do know of it,” said Murdoch.

“Then you must also know that these confessions are considered to be of the utmost confidentiality. A priest is not allowed to reveal what is said, even if threatened by law…in that faith I believe the priest is considered to have a direct connection to God. I don’t accept that myself.” He smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I am wandering from the point. You see, as a pastor, I am frequently called upon by my parishioners for counsel from anything of the most trivial, what should I plant in the garden this year, to matters of great moment, how can I settle my affairs when I die so that my children don’t quarrel with each other? I do not repeat what my people tell me.” He struggled for words. “On the other hand, I am not a Romish priest and sworn to a vow of secrecy.”

Murdoch didn’t think the priests actually took such a vow, it was more a matter of canon law, but he wasn’t about to correct the pastor. “Please go on, Reverend. I do respect your position, but what you have to say might be very helpful to me. Thomas Talbert confided in you?”

“Yes. We have been friends since boyhood. We went to Sackville School together. Thom was always determined to become a man of means, which he is now, of course, and I have been called by our Lord to spread the Good News.”

Murdoch nodded, but Archer didn’t pay attention, lost in his thoughts. Whatever they were, it was clearly disturbing to him.

“Poor fellow. He doesn’t want to part with the stable, I know that, but God’s ways are mysterious to us and He has visited Thomas with severe misfortune. He must consider himself lucky to be able to get any of his money out of it at all.”

He fell silent again and Murdoch began to wonder if that was the extent of the confidence that Talbert had shared with him. However, the old man continued.

“Thom is a hothead, he always has been.” He looked over at Murdoch. “He is convinced that Cooke is responsible for the fires, although it seems quite unlikely. Worse, he insists that Daniel has poisoned his horses. I know that was a most mysterious affair, but these things happen to animals, don’t they? He had to admit his veterinarian couldn’t find any poison, but he is unshakeable. What troubles me, though, sir, is that he is so intent on revenge. I have reminded him, Revenge is Mine, sayeth the Lord, but he will have none of it.” Archer drew deeply on his pipe. “His desire is like a poison itself. He will wait, I know he will. He said so himself. I cannot talk him out of it.”

Suddenly, the old man stared at Murdoch. “We’ve got off the topic again. I know that Thomas darsn’t go to America himself. Has he hired you?”

“Er, no, sir. I’m a police officer.”

Archer stared at him in surprise. “Are you, indeed? I’m glad to hear it. I thought that the matter was of no concern to the city.”

“It is, sir. A matter of great concern.”

“Good, good. Would it help if you saw a picture of the girl yourself?”

Before Murdoch could find an answer, Archer got to his feet and shuffled over to his desk. He rummaged in the back for a few minutes, muttering to himself, then returned carrying a flat, oblong leather case. He took out a small
card de visite
case. It was pretty with a gilt finish.

“Such a dreadful tragedy. Praise the Lord, who moves in mysterious ways. But we are all praying for a happy outcome.” He handed Murdoch the case. “This was taken recently. She herself gave this to me shortly before her marriage.” Murdoch took the
case and opened it. The place where the picture would have been was empty.

“What has happened to her, Reverend?”

The old man looked bewildered. “Why do you ask me? I thought that was why you were here?”

“No, sir. I’m afraid I don’t know what has happened to Miss Talbert.”

“Nobody can find her. Her husband has been searching for weeks to no avail.”

“Why is she missing?”

“I’m astonished you don’t know. It happened right after she was married. They were in Niagara on their wedding tour. The unfortunate man blames himself, of course.”

“And what has happened to her?”

“She has been kidnapped and sold into slavery.”

“My God!”

“We must not take the Lord’s name in vain, sir, but we are praying constantly for her safe return.”

“Who is her husband, Reverend? Who did she marry?”

“Don’t you know? He is one of Thom’s cabbies.”

The pastor’s eyes drifted away.

“Who? Which cabbie do you mean, Reverend?” Murdoch asked, trying desperately to contain his impatience.

“His name is Daniel Cooke.”

CHAPTER
FORTY-THREE

M
urdoch was still reeling from this information when the pastor said, “Are you of the Baptist faith, Mr. Murdoch?”

“No sir. I am a Roman Catholic.”

“Indeed? Well I don’t suppose Christian prayer is so much different, is it?”

Although he had the feeling Father Fair’s hair would stand on end at this blasphemy, Murdoch nodded. “I don’t think it is either, Reverend.”

The pastor picked agitatedly at the crocheted armrest cover. “Emeline needs our prayers. She must be found before it is too late. Her mother came to see me this very night and I know she is distraught. I could hardly comfort her. Forgive me, sir, my memory is not as good as it was, things slip away like papers off my desk. But as I recall she was asking me about a child. She said his name was Isaiah, but I don’t know a boy by that name.” He shrugged. “I don’t know why she was inquiring about him, she never said.” He sighed. “The poor woman was in such pain and
although I say it I shouldn’t, I don’t believe she is long for this earth. The Lord is ready to receive her…but we were about to do something, weren’t we?”